


We are more than willing to die

by Frehior



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-04 23:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11565636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frehior/pseuds/Frehior
Summary: John’s satisfied. He didn’t throw away his shot, and had somehow walked away from the duel unscathed. Still, Alexander himself doesn’t seem satisfied, his willingness to die is unsettling to John.John Laurens is satisfied, and is ready to be the one to uplift Alexander's spirits after he's called inside Washington's tent. Who'd have thought Lafayette would be the one to uplift his spirits, because Alexander Hamilton keeps shooting off at the mouth?/ Can be read as friendship or romance.





	1. We are more than willing to die

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any gramatical mistake, or any sentence/idiom/word that makes not sense whatsoever (appreciated if you point it out). I'm aware there's one point where one idea transitions to the next one with no in-between. But I tried one time too many to fix it and so far I'm unsuccessful lol. So, bear with me until I update it.

 

 

 

John feels his heart race in his chest, a constant thumping against his ribcage that makes his ears be deaf to any sound that’s on his surroundings. Having faced death and coming out unscathed was truly a experience that filled him with both stupid glee and a bone-shaking nervousness. Probably the adrenaline still pumping though his system. And probably the sudden, inexplicable ripple of rage that flared though him when the general had approached the bleeding Chales Lee.

 

Yes, he was satisfied, but seeing Washington behave with such politeness to the very person he had challenged to a duel for the sake of protecting Washington’s pride was infuriating. How could he behave like that to the person that had spat over his name? He had also challenged Lee in behalf of Alexander, of course. But the sentiment of them both was the same— they wished to make Lee see the error in his ways, see what you get for talking garbage about someone of the magnitude of Washington, who was already doing so much for them, planning, trying to get them the winning grounds.

 

Charles Lee, the same bastard who had called back their forces as they had been ordered to attack, was certainly a coward that was undeserving to breath and stay in the same places those who where sacrificing themselves stood. John was satisfied, having shot him in his side, having seen the pained look on his features. Call him sick, but he had savored every second of Lee gasping for air and looking in despair at anything, at anyone. He had enjoyed how he clutched Burr’s clothes.

 

His breathing evened out eventually, and he raked his fingers through his hair, letting one last shaky breath before stepping toward the tent of George Washington. Alexander had been called out to have a private talk with the general, and John wanted to wait for him to come out and celebrate, probably uplift his friend’s spirits, since he guessed from Washington’s curt tone towards Alexander that his friend was in for a reprimand for his actions. Most likely for not stopping the duel from happening, seeing he had served as John’s second.

 

And Alexander had a reputation, of how he could use words to walk himself out of trouble, or in trouble. Alexander had also made it clear he wanted to challenge Lee, and be the one to hold the gun, opposite to Charles Lee. George Washington’s train of thought, if John guessed right, was that of Alexander refusing any peace that was offered, of Alexander wanting to see his desire being fulfilled through John. And certainly, John would put his life on the line for Alexander any time the man asked for it— but only because Alexander was, in fact, the closest friend he had. An offense towards him was an offense towards Laurens himself. Lafayette, Mulligan, they both were also of his closest friends, and he would undoubtedly take a gun if necessary to protect their pride. John had taken it upon himself to honor his friend’s wishes, as well as his own.

 

The exchange inside the tent came to be clear, Alexander’s tone, although seemingly controlled and clipped, was loud enough for him to make sense of the words. And Washington, always the one to lose a bit of his composure in front of Alexander’s words, was letting his words be heard, loud and clear, obvious anger or frustration in them. Laurens stood carefully outside of the tent, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting to hear their exchange.

 

“ _—I could fly above my station after the war!_ "

 

“ _Or you could die, and we need you alive!_ ” Washington hollered, patience seemingly thin by now.

 

John flinched at the tone, not used to seeing or hearing the general’s temper. George Washington losing control of his cool was downright scary to him, for multiple reasons— but mostly because whatever had caused it surely was _bad_. Of course Alexander possessed a strong front. He could take their general’s rebuke without so much of batting an eyelash, and keep with his work. He smiled at the thought, proud of his friend’s will.

 

And all of a sudden, all warmth left him.

 

“ _I am more than willing to die—!_ ”

 

He felt frozen to the spot.

 

Felt his blood turn to ice, the coldness embedding itself on his chest. His smile, frozen on his face, slowly melted away and he frowned, his thoughts seemingly having stopped.

 

_“Your wife needs you alive. Son, I need you alive!”_

 

The gun Hamilton had given to him slipped from his hold, and he felt his fingers cold now that they were bare, no longer around the pistol he had put his faith in moments before. Once again blood rushed to his ears, and he turned on the spot, long strides carrying him towards an unsure destination. He wanted to go to his tent and mull over his friend’s words.

 

They had sounded so desperate, the words, as if Alexander had already given himself to death, as if he was resigned to meet his fate sooner rather than later. And John got that. They were at war, for god’s sake! Men died everyday in the raids, in the fights, in the encounters they kept having with British forces, even between themselves, just as now Lee might be marching to his death if the doctor didn’t treat him right, if John had shot him in a vital spot, if he had bleed to the point where there was no turning back.

 

But Alexander, tone rough as his voice cracked, had spoken those words with more heart than necessary, had spoken them with a firm belief he’d die in the battlefield, with a fire John saw whenever he got his pen between his fingers and paper under it.

 

“Lafayette!” He called out to his friend, entering his tent without asking permission. He flinched at the way his voice sounded to his ears, so strained.

 

The French man quickly stood from his place, and went to cup John’s face between his hands, thumbs rubbing at his cheeks, wetting them further. “John? Is all okay? Why are you crying, dear?”

 

Deep in his thoughts, John hadn’t noticed the hot tears rolling down his cheeks, and he blinked in surprise, feeling them finally, spilling from his eyes and being caught by Lafayette’s warm thumbs.

 

“Alexander wants to— he’s so willing to fucking _die_.” He spat, disgust — _or dread, he couldn’t quite tell_ — churning on the pit of his stomach.

 

Lafayette’s brows rose, and he made a small ‘ _Oh_ ’, before his arms were firmly wrapping themselves around John’s shoulders, bringing him closer. A hug John so much needed, so he hugged him back.

 

“What did he say to you? The Lord knows he likes to speak without thinking.”

 

Pulling himself away from the hug, John shook his head, and dried his cheeks with the cuffs of his coat. “It’s not— I mean, he and Washington were speaking. And he just… goes and says that _he’s more than willing to die_. You should’ve heard him, Laf!”

 

Lafayette smiles at him, and the way his lips curl, the softness and warmth of his smile bring some peace to Laurens’ troubled mind. “Oh,  _mon chéri_. You know Alexander’s ways. You know his wishes to rise up and leave a mark when he’s gone.” Lafayette says, his tone calm, steady.

 

“I know, I  _know_! It’s just that— How can he tell me to not throw away my shot when he sounds like he’s ready to throw away his?!” John asks, desperate for an answer.

 

“Shh, John.” Lafayette's fingers thread carefully over John’s hair, and he slips his hair free from its restrain, wanting to give John some more space, some more freedom. “We know Alexander Hamilton is someone who would _never_ throw away his shot. The Alexander Hamilton, _our_  Alex would _never_ , ever do that, hear me?”

 

John nods slowly, and sniffs, closing his eyes to let himself be lost to the way Lafayette’s fingers move though his hair. “ _I know, I know_.”

 

“Besides, do you think our Alexander would just be content with dying in glory, on the battlefield?” He joked, smirk on his lips. “He’d be getting out of his tomb to just do _more_. You know he’s hard to satisfy.”

 

John laughs, and smiles up at Lafayette. “He’ll never be satisfied.”

 

“ _We might not live to see our glory._ ” Lafayette repeats softly, the beginning of a chorus they’d often sing in their drunk stupor. A reminder of what moves them day after day, of what they fight for, of their _friendship and camaraderie_.

 

“ _We will gladly join the fight.”_  John repeats, and his chest feels less heavy, knowing they’d give their all for the revolution, for their freedom. They’d die for it, if necessary.

 

If Alexander’s resolve was to simply die for their cause, after getting so far, after just a small taste of freedom, he wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t be friends, surely. Hadn’t that fiery fire burning with such intensity drawn them all together? Hadn’t his flame touched many people, starting a fire that burned bright even in the chilliest and darkest night? Alexander Hamilton wouldn’t throw away his shot just like that.

 

John understood that, as much as Alexander was willing to die, he was even more willing to keep going, leave a deeper mark in his wake, a reminder of who exactly he was, of what he could achieve and his dexterity.

 

“Now. Do you want me to speak to him about this, John?” Lafayette asks, and John shakes his head in negative.

 

“Nah. I mean. I was willing to die just moments ago, right?” And a short dry laugh escaped him. Lafayette offered him a small smile. “I’m just— he inspires me so much, you know, Laf?”

 

“He’s like that.”

 

“I was more than willing to die for him.” He says with another laugh, this one to cover up the upcoming tears. “Gosh! He’s one of a kind. But, you know what’s more screwed up? I’d do it again. For him, I’d do it the necessary times.” And the tears are again on his eyes, rolling down with mixed emotions.

 

Relief, after acknowledging Alexander’s willingness to die didn’t meant he’d stand still and let death catch him. He was happy that he wasn’t hurt, that he had protected Washington’s name, that he hadn’t let Alexander down. He hadn’t thrown away his shot. Nervousness, because he was knee-deep in this shit. It was irrational how he’d give his life for Alexander any time. He was partly afraid, because he’d actually give his life for Alexander’s— _not necessarily throw away his shot_.

 

_‘He can achieve so much. His words are put together in an astounding way.’_ , John thought, knowing Alexander would continue to fight for what he believed. And he’d probably be more successful in it than any other man alive. Alexander’s words held the force of nature on each syllable, on each letter. They were unrelenting, and had yet to meet its match.

 

“He’s that charming, John.” Lafayette tells him, and his eyes shine with certain sadness, reflected on his smile. “ _We’d_ be more than willing to die for him. It is scary.”

 

And they both laugh, because that’s just how close they are, how much they care for each other. That’s how much they’ve been through, how much they held each other’s back through and through.

 

“Man, he has us on his palm.” John says, heaving out a sigh.

 

“That’s Alexander Hamilton for you.” Lafayette says, teeth showing in his wide smile.

 

John returns the smile, and whispers to himself, “ _For us_.”

 

“Now,  _chéri_ , go speak to him. Surely he’s fuming after the general had a few words with him.”

 

John beams at Lafayette, and nods, tying up his hair again. “Thank you, Laf. You’re the best.”

 

“ _Je sais._ ” Lafayette says. And of course he knows he’s the best, how could he not? "But don’t let Alex hear, he’ll get jealous.” Lafayette says, hugging John goodbye before kissing both his cheeks.


	2. He’s more than willing to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John returns to the tent he shares with Alexander, and finds himself with the news his friend is leaving the fight, under Washington's orders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, anything that sounds off it's probably me lacking expertise in the English language, so I apologize for that :).

“Hey, Alex—“ John says as a greeting, cheerful, entering the tent he shared with his friend. Upon the sight that received him, his smile disappeared from his lips, “—What are you doing?” He stops at the entrance, watching how the tent was bare of any belongings Alexander had had.

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

“Leaving?!” John repeats, and his heart thumbs hard against his ribcage in a painful way.

 

“I’m not wanted here anymore, John.” Alexander informs, and walks toward Laurens, one hand finding rest on his shoulder. His smile is warm, and his eyes lose that sharpness and anger, softening to John.

 

“Alex, you-you can’t leave.” John tries a smile, but it feels forced and odd, so he drops it. “We’re in the middle of war." He adds, and Alexander smiles fondly at him, as if he were saying his goodbye silently. “We need you, Alexander. You’ve got great brains and, and—"

 

“You did great on today’s duel. Didn’t expect less from a man of your caliber.” He says, cutting John’s trembling voice, and John’s chest swells with warm pride at the praise.

 

“Just like you said. I didn’t throw away my shot.” John says, soft, as if he didn’t want anyone else to know. Perhaps is the way his throat seems to tighten that he does so, doesn’t want to raise his voice for fear of breaking into tears again. “I didn’t throw it away and I— we—“

 

“ _Shh. I know, I know._ ”

 

Alexander holds him in his embrace just like Lafayette had done moments ago. John reciprocates the action, bites hard his lower lip to hold back the tears. “ _Do you— are you really leaving?_ ” He asks, unsure, hoping this is one bad joke from his friend.

 

“ _Orders from your excellency._ ” Alexander replies, his tone just as soft as John’s.

 

John laughs bitterly. “He doesn’t know what he’s letting go away.” He croaks, and blinks repeatedly. “If I die I want you to tell Washington is because you weren’t by my side.”

 

“No throwing away your shot, Laurens.” Alexander playfully chides.

 

“I won’t. But you’re the one to help with clear thoughts.” Laurens replies, hugging Alexander with a bit of more force, don’t wanting to let go, in fear that as soon as he lets his hold loose, the man would vanish right on the spot.

 

There’s mirth on Alexander’s tone as he retorts: “Could’ve sworn I was the one with crazy ideas.”

 

“You are! Which means I’m the one to have the rational ideas.” John adds, and presses his face tighter against Alexander’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t die, John. Not until we’ve won. And we’ve well lived past our prime, and our children tell our story.”

 

John shakes his head against the clothed shoulder of his friends, and muffles a laugh. “Me dying seems as plausible as you throwing away your shot, Alex.”

 

Alexander feels his face break into a wide smile, and he leaves a kiss on John’s shoulder, before pulling away. “Never gonna happen, right?”

 

John’s smile is as wide as his as he replies, “Never. You’ll not get rest of me until we’re both old.” He’s sure of his words, believes in them as he believes in Alexander’s words.

 

_Never gonna happen._

 

No, it won’t.

 

They’ll win the war, and they’ll keep accomplishing more things in life. And when they’re old, they’ll keep jesting, carefree of worry and knowing they’d had done their share in the world.

 

“’Till the world turns upside down, John.” Alexander says, and John recognizes the phrase, knows Alexander won’t stop trying to rise up until the war is won, and not even after that. Knows Alexander will keep going, unrelenting. His thoughts get the closure he needed after hearing those upsetting words tumble from Alexander’s lips at the general’s tent.

 

John sighs in contentment, satisfied with that knowledge. “‘Till we meet again, Alexander.”


	3. I am more than willing to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Hamilton's more than willing to die-- for their cause, the revolution, this war, for their country, a new nation they'll make. He's reminded once again that he's also got people he'd like to grow old with, once its over.

 

 

The silence felt deafening, and Hamilton stood still, feeling every nerve in his body burn with anticipation. He felt small. Having just had an outburst, yelling straight to Washington’s face… He blinked once. Twice. Waited for the upcoming backlash, readied himself for whatever might come his way. He and Washington had always been on questionable terms, at least in his eyes. The general attempted a friendlier relationship, which Alexander could accept more if it weren't so obvious.

 

But having knowledge Washington showed favoritism towards him was infuriating. If anyone saw that, and saw him in his current position, there would be no doubt they’d speak, and rumors would spread like wildfire, and all the work he had done to get where he was now would be put behind the bushes, brushed off as Hamilton being a leech on George Washington’s greatness. He did not wish that. He wished for people to acknowledge his struggles, his work, his success, and adjudge it to him, not to anyone else, not to a friendly hand that helped him climb up the stairs of success. No, he had done his own share to get this far.

 

“Go home, Alexander—”

 

Hamilton’s lips part, ready to backpedal, to come up with a reason, a excuse, _anything_ to prevent Washington to continue this. He couldn’t leave. Couldn’t let things die like this, he couldn’t, couldn’t, he—

 

“—That’s an order from your commander.”

 

And if the fear of being forgotten and thrown to the side, left to rot with the memories of his short-lived success wasn’t this big, the voice that told him to talk back, talk reason to the general, probably wouldn’t have been shut silent.

 

“Sir—“ His voice cracked, and he hated how scared he sounded, how unsure. A few words and Washington had made him sound like his younger self, unsure of his every step on his tragic life. It was just a word, whispered, but he hoped it conveyed how much he wanted to be here, _needed_ to be here.

 

“Go. Home.”

 

He searched for words, for phrases to win his place back, but the general had already turned his back on him, not even looking one last time over his shoulder.

 

Feeling defeated, he bit his tongue. Didn’t want to dug the hole deeper than it already was. He turned to leave, deciding he should go speak to John before leaving.

 

His brows rose in puzzlement when he stepped outside, recognizing the pistol that laid before the general’s tent. He crouched down to pick it up, and looked around, searching for his friend. John was nowhere in sight, and he sighed, his mind already providing reasons to why was his gun left forgotten. Laurens had probably stayed behind, waiting for Alexander. And he had probably listened to his and Washington’s exchange.

 

He admitted to having sound unlike himself at some points, obviously desperate for some form of recognition in the battle. A recognition where his name would be spoken between their men, about his heroic acts, of how he had successfully lead them to another victory. He walked towards the tent he shared with Laurens, hoping he’d find him there. He’d like to explain himself to him. Not that he had too, but it could as well serve as a way to vent out his frustrations. Moreover, he wanted to congratulate Laurens for the duel he had had with Charles Lee. Wanted to tell him how well he had done, controlling himself, keeping his aim, not throwing away his shot. He had rose from the battle, satisfied, and had successfully defended Washington’s name.

 

John Laurens had made him incredibly proud for various reasons.

 

Upon finding the tent unoccupied, he decided the best course of action now would be to gather his things in the meantime. If Laurens didn’t return by then, he’d leave a quick note before leaving. After he finishes, there’s barely a moment to think about pulling out a paper and a pen before John’s cheerful voice rings in his ears.

 

“Hey, Alex— What are you doing?” The sudden change in tone is a giveaway of his surprise to finding the tent bare of Alexander’s previous scattered belongings.

 

Alexander doesn’t turns to face him, thinking through about what he’ll tell John. “I’m leaving.”

 

“Leaving?!”

 

The small hitch he hears on his friend’s voice makes his heart ache with worry, and he turns to face him—“I’m not wanted here anymore, John.”—, cuts the distance between them short and lets his hand rest on Lauren’s shoulder. He smiles at Laurens, softening upon looking at those eyes widened by surprise. He forgets about the fact he must leave, for a second, and feels his anger and frustration bleed away. Its scary how easy John makes his problems fade, how quickly he calms his temper.

 

“Alex, you-you can’t leave.” John stutters, trips momentarily over his words, and the almost-smile on his lips disappears quickly. “We’re in the middle of war.”

 

John adds, as if that would change Alexander’s orders. He smiles at him, somewhat melancholic. He’d miss him in the time he’d be gone.

 

“We need you, Alexander. You’ve got great brains and, and—“

 

The strain on his voice is notorious, and the redness around his eyes is tell-tale of how he had previously cried. Alexander can’t help but mentally kick himself. If he only had more self-control over his mouth, he probably could avoid hurting those he cared about. “You did great on today’s duel.” He tells him, deciding to change the subject for both their sake. "Didn’t expect less from a man of your caliber.”

 

John whispers softly, “Just like you said. I didn’t throw away my shot.”, and Alexander swears John might be the friend he doesn’t deserve. Because he’s too good, too kind. He never seemed to have an ulterior motive, always comes with his intentions and emotions bared to Alexander. “I didn’t throw it away and I— we—“

 

Alexander can’t help but think John Laurens is the friend he doesn’t deserve. Because he himself has been the cause of John's strife in more than one occasion, certainly. So when words seem to fail him, coming short for any apology he might need to give out, he brings his friend close to his chest, hugs him tight.

 

“ _Shh. I know, I know._ ”

 

“ _Do you— are you really leaving?”_ He asks, softly, as if he’s stepping over eggshells.

 

And it’s probably due to the vulnerability he might be feeling at the moment, showing on his words, his tone, that makes Alexander replies just as softly, “ _Orders from your excellency._ ”

 

John’s laugh, although bitter, lifts some weight from his shoulders. “He doesn’t know what he’s letting go away. If I die I want you to tell Washington is because you weren’t by my side.”

 

The mere idea of John dying sends fear though his body, and his heart churns in pain at the thought. “No throwing away your shot, Laurens.” He says in a playful tone, silently wishing for it to be true, for it to stand true. Because if Laurens died, he wouldn’t know what to do, wouldn’t know how he’d react to it, how he’d keep through life after it.

 

“I won’t. But you’re the one to help with clear thoughts.” John hugs him tighter, and Alexander wants to laugh at the words.

 

Clear thoughts? They were all troublemakers, and Alexander was the first to propose crazy ideas, that most times than not could lead them to their death. “Could’ve sworn I was the one with crazy ideas.”

 

“You are! Which means I’m the one to have the rational ideas.”

 

Well, that made sense.

 

“Don’t die, John. Not until we’ve won. And we’ve well lived past our prime, and our children tell our story.” He says, remembering the times they would all go out and get themselves drunk. John, Lafayette, Mulligan and himself, they’d be like a chorus, repeating his last sentence. Until their children told their stories, none of them should meet death.

 

“Me dying seems as plausible as you throwing away your shot, Alex.” John says, muffling his laugh against his shoulder, and Alexander smiles wide, presses a kiss against John’s shoulder in a show of affection before he pulls away, still smiling at John.

 

"Never gonna happen, right?” Alex says, acknowledging his own insistence to his friends to not throw away their shot. If a shot is what you were given to live or die, you took it. You rose above it and kept going.

 

John replies, with a smile to match his own, “Never. You’ll not get rest of me until we’re both old.”

 

He’s okay with that. Alexander is perfectly okay with that idea. He’d love to grow old with his friends, share stories of their youth with their children, see his friends get married and live a happy life. He knows they deserve that much. So he repeats John something they’ve been repeating to each other in previous nights where sleep never came, where they stayed until late hours writing, and writing, and doing their best to come with a way to get what they so fervently fought for. A reminder for what they fight for, a reminder of their friendship, and their resolve, and their will to keep going and win the war.

 

“’Till the world turns upside down, John.”

 

“‘Till we meet again, Alexander.”

 

He takes John’s face between his hands, and playfully plants a kiss on the freckled nose of his friend. “You keep kicking ass for me, okay?”

 

“You keep your sanity for me, okay?”

 

Alexander laughs, and shakes his head, amused at how they could jest in such situation. These bright moments were the ones he looked forward after the war.

 

“We have a deal, Laurens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, we conclude with this small story that was written on an inspired night :). Hope y'all enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying I was hearing the song 'Stay alive (reprise)' in a loop while I wrote this. But, y'kno', me hearing it every few minutes surely had something to do with the 'I know, I know's that seem to run amok every now and then (along with many other references).
> 
> Also, it brought me both pain and amusement all that 'he'd never throw away his shot' like... ha-ha. Good one, boys :-).


End file.
